The Strength Of The Sea
by IllusionaryEscapement
Summary: Annie's life after Finnick's death, and with a baby on the way. How she made it through when the odds were never in her favour.
1. Movement

**WARNING: Self harm/suicide references.  
Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable.  
I plan on continuing this, so I hope you like it!  
Reviews make my day, even if they're criticisms! **

* * *

Blood.

There is so much blood.

The bitter, rusty scent of it fills her nose, suffocating her, starving her of air.

The ground below her feet is slick with it; she can feel herself sliding in the vibrant red liquid.

It clings to her skin, drips down her arms, her legs, her face.

She can taste it, acidic and putrid in her mouth, it slips down her throat making her gag.

It drips slowly into her lungs, choking her. The more she breathes, the faster her lungs fill.

She tries to scream, but her voice is drowned out by the scarlet fluid.

The blood drips into her eyes, turning her vision completely crimson.

She tries to run, tries to escape, but she's stuck here, drowning in it.

There is someone, someone who can help her. She was looking for him, she has to find him. If she can find him, everything will be alright. But she's forgotten who she is looking for, and the time is passing as she slowly dies.

She can't breathe anymore.

As the blood fills her ears, dulling out the sound of her own rasping gurgles, a name appears in her mind.

Finnick.

If she can find Finnick, everything will be fine. If she can find Finnick, all the pain will vanish, the screams will disappear.

Finnick always chases the shadows away.

Desperate now to reach her husband, Annie struggles to pull herself out of the blood, but the harder she tries, the heavier it presses down on her, until it is a crushing weight, pounding the life out of her.

"_Finnick!_" She calls out in desperation. "Finnick help me!"

The yell wakes her up.

As the reality of her dark bedroom begins to take shape, and the searing red of blood slowly fades from her vision, Annie sits bolt upright in her bed, heart pounding, lathered in sweat, another scream resting in the back of her throat. The sheets are tangled around her body, binding her, trapping her.

Her heart is still racing, thoughts still swirling, as she reaches for the reassuring warmth of Finnick's arms. Surprise registers somewhere in the back of her mind that her screaming has not woken him, that her head is not already cradled against his warm, safe shoulder, that the sound of his heart and his whispers aren't already banishing the memories of her nightmare.

She reaches across to his side of the bed, fingers searching hungrily for his warmth...Only to encounter the silent, unmoving coldness of empty sheets.

A chilling shudder racks through her frail body.

"_Finnick is gone, Annie. He's not coming back._"

Her heart is pounding again, head swirling.

There is no Finnick.

She will never again lay her head against Finnick's warm chest; never listen to his heart beat. He will never again sing lullabies in her ear to soothe her from her nightmares. She will never again run her fingers through his unkempt bronze hair, or stare into his beautiful green eyes.

"_Finnick is gone, Annie. He's not coming back._"

It has been four months since Finnick went away. Four months of waking up every night, searching for him, and finding emptiness. Four months of unmovable, crippling grief.

Annie's breathing turns short and sharp, as hysteria threatens to take over her body and mind, as has happened so many times before.

She rests her head on her arms, trying to stop the world from spinning, and her eyes are drawn to the pale pink scars that criss-cross them, illuminated by the moonlight.

"_Finnick is gone, Annie. He's not coming back._"

When she had heard those words, she didn't want to live anymore. What was this life without him? Why would she want to be here, when she could be _there_ with him?

The knife had just been sitting there, as if it was waiting for her. It wasn't the first time Annie had played with knives. They were her friends, when Finnick went away. He didn't like it when she hurt herself. He used to cry, and kiss her scars, and make her promise never to do it again. She didn't have to do it though, not when he was with her.

But he hadn't been there then. And he wasn't coming back. Surely he would understand that she was just trying to find a way to be with him?

They'd found her lying in a pool of her own blood, knife still clenched firmly in her hand. She was already weak, she'd blacked out too soon, they'd found her too soon.

Waking up to the hospital lights, to faces that weren't Finnick had been excruciating. She was supposed to be with him by now.

She hadn't been successful that time, but she'd be out soon. Next time, she would leave no room for mistakes.

Or so she had thought.

Those two words changed everything.

"_You're pregnant"._

Pregnant. A baby. Her baby.

_Finnick's_ baby.

She knew then that she had to stay here. There was a piece of Finnick growing inside of her, proof that he existed, hope that he would go on. She couldn't let the last piece of him fade away.

So she'd sat up in the hospital bed, allowed them to feed her, spoke when spoken to.

They'd let her go home, back to the remains of District 4 when she was recovered, when there was nothing more they could do for her... and here she had stayed, in the confinements of her room, almost for the last four months on end.

Because outside was too scary, and her mind was too frightened, and her soul was too tormented to face the world without Finnick.

Her cousin Brooke came over sometimes.

She said it was to make sure Annie was eating properly.

Annie knew it was to check if she was still alive.

"_You have a baby to think about now Annie. You have to take care of yourself for the baby's sake, if nothing else. You know it's what Finnick would say, what he would want"._

Annie knew she was right. She knew exactly what Finnick would say if he was here.

"_You gotta be strong Ann, strong for our baby. You're the only one who can protect it, you know. It needs you..."_

"I need you too!" she would call to the silence.

It was in the ever present silence that she continued to stare at her scars that were slowly fading away. The scars on her skin would eventually vanish into nothingness - it was the ones on her heart that were still screaming, gaping wounds.

Images from her nightmare continued to flash in her mind, intertwined with flashes of old dreams about Finnick's death, old memories of the arena.

Annie's breath turned to great, ragged gasps, as her heart raged a war inside her chest, and her blood turned to ice.

Her trembling body shook the world around her as the nightmares pressed closer to her conscience, calling her, beckoning her back to their midst. Even if she fought, they would always win...she was so tired...so very tired...and it was so easy to give in...

But then she felt it.

At first it was so faint, it barely registered, and the nightmares continued to indulge themselves within her weak sanity.

But then it was there again, and this time, from a place in her heart that she didn't even know existed until that very moment, Annie drew on a new kind of strength.

It was the kind of strength that had the power to destroy the very foundations of a mighty nation, only to build it up again from the rubble. It was the kind of strength that could turn tides, light up the sun and keep the world turning on its axis.

It was a feeling that Annie did not even know she was capable of until she felt her baby move inside her.

And abruptly, the creping nightmares were banished, and Annie wrapped her hands around her slightly bulging stomach and wept.

Because suddenly, it was real. There was a _life_ inside of her, a growing, moving, living person whose fate was entirely in her hands.

And it wasn't any person. This baby, this baby was part of Finnick. As long as this baby was around, he would never truly be gone.

Annie was overcome with so much love, so much pain. She was terrified.

But then she felt her baby kick again, and it became all that mattered in the world.

"I love you, little one. I'm going to look after you, I promise", she whispered through tears that were falling thick and fast.

Annie straightened up her bed, and lay gingerly down in the middle of it, one hand never leaving her stomach.

It wasn't until her head hit the pillow that she realised, for the first time in four months; her nightmares had not claimed her again.

The faintest trace of hope lit up behind her dark green eyes.

"We're going to look after each other", she whispered, as an uncommonly peaceful darkness settled over her.


	2. Light

The ocean had become a source of eternal contradiction for Annie.

The ocean of her dreams was the gentle lapping of the waves against the grainy white shore on a summer's day; it was the strong arms of water where she had learnt to swim before she could walk.  
It was the rhythmic crashing of the waves that sounded like her own lullaby; it was the cobalt blue of tumultuous water before a storm.  
It was the dark green of the deepest parts that was exactly the same shade as Finnick's eyes; it was the place they'd always meet when he came back to her.  
It was the salt in the air that allowed her to breathe freely like nothing else; it was the freedom she felt when she looked out into the never ending horizon.

The ocean of her dreams was home.

The ocean of her nightmares was hell.

The ocean of her nightmares was the sea of blood that drowned her night after night; it was the evil clutches of the hiding current dragging her little brother down to unreachable depths.  
It was the unnatural water of the arena, where she had swam for hours without thinking and be labelled a victor, broken and tortured, simply for staying alive.  
It was the dark green of the deepest parts that reflected the ghost of Finnick's eyes, always haunting her; it was the place they'd always say goodbye before he left for the sordid clutches of the Capitol.  
It was suffocating, it was unpredictable, it was the mirror image of her insanity.

She could not love the ocean, but neither could she hate it.

She'd made a compromise with herself.

She could watch it from afar, walk the shores of the beaches, breathe in its liberating scent...but never again would she enter its grasps.

Annie's house backed onto a secluded corner of the shore line.

The windows at the rear of the cottage were large and inviting, welcoming the ocean into the home.

The sand met the edges of her back garden; the white walls were weathered by wind and salt.

When she had been a little girl, she never closed her curtains.

If she couldn't sleep, she loved to be able to look out of her window and straight out onto the sea, to watch the starts dancing in the water, to see the milky staircase the moon painted in the reflection.

The first thing she would do when she woke up in the morning was fling open her windows, and breathe in the salty air, watch as the sea birds flew across the rising sun, welcoming in a new day.

The curtains had been closed, still, unmoving, since the day Finnick died.

It was what Brooke Cresta was expecting to see when she came to drop off some breakfast for her cousin, the morning after Annie had felt her baby.

It was the way it had been for months now – the darkened bedroom, Annie immobile and silent under a mountain of blankets, food from the day before barely touched, the dead look in her eyes.

The sight that greeted her almost made her drop the tray of food in surprise.

The first thing Brooke noticed was the light – there was light streaming into the room, filling it up, chasing shadows out of the corners, illuminating the dust particles that drifted through the air.

The navy blue curtains had been pulled back, and daylight was greeting the rediscovered abyss as an old friend.

Then she noticed Annie...Sitting up...Awake...Alert...In her favourite armchair by the window.

Her wild, unruly dark hair had been washed – it was still damp...she could smell the shampoo.

She'd tamed the tangled locks into two long braids down her back, the way they used to wear their hair when they were young.

She was wearing her bottle green satin robe; the old t-shirt of Finnick's that she'd been wearing endlessly was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn't her appearance that intrigued Brooke the most however, it was her face.

Her features were no longer strained in the tormented mask that had frequented her pretty expression for so long now. She was no longer exuding the feeling of pain.

Sure, Brooke knew it was still there. She could see it implanted deep in those green eyes. However, where the previous day had revealed a dead soul hiding beneath them, today they just looked vacant.

Vacant, not dead. Like there was a chance the light could come back on at any moment.

Something had changed.

"An...Annie?"

Brooke stumbled over her name, nervous to break the calm reverie that her cousin was shrouded in.

To her continued surprise, Annie turned her head and looked Brooke straight in the eyes.

There was no sign of recognition, no sign of joy, but it was still a reaction, and that was more than Brooke had ever hoped to see again.

"I've brought some breakfast for you Annie. I'm just gonna leave it on the table here, ok sweetie?"

Annie's emerald eyes followed her as she placed the food down.

Brooke stood nervously in the room for the moment, unsure of how to take these new developments, unsure of what to say.

Fear that she would somehow manage to shatter this sliver of hopeful change propelled Brooke to make a hasty exit.

"I'm...I'm headed back home now... I'll be back a bit later though, with some more food, kay".

Her hand was just resting on the door handle, about to pull it closed again, when she heard it.

"Thank-you".

The voice was so quiet, so strained with four months of disuse that Brooke wondered whether she'd imagined it for a moment; in fact she was beginning to wonder whether she'd dreamt up the entire thing.

Then, through the gap in the door that was not yet closed, Brooke saw Annie rest a hand tenderly on her growing stomach, and whisper soft nothings to the silence.

Barely daring to breathe for fear that she'd disrupt the moment, forcing a smile away, and scarcely hiding hope, Brooke closed the door.


	3. Tangles

Annie often dreamt of the past.

It was like a movie, replaying in her head when she closed her eyes. The scenes were perfect replicas of events that had occurred, unchanging, and at times haunting.

They weren't all bad memories...some of them were pure, unaffected happiness...but those seemed to be the ones that haunted her the most.

When her dreams touched so closely to reality, it became hard to distinguish the two.

It made life a constant battle for her, the real versus the fake, the fantasy versus reality, sleep versus waking. Nobody understood. Except Finnick.

He always understood.

Of course she dreamt of him the most.

How did they expect her to move on when she couldn't even escape his memory through the solace of sleep?

The dreams weren't sequential, they didn't have to have a particular purpose, or significance.

Sometimes they were fleeting flashes of a moment that left her aching for more.

Sometimes they were long and drawn out, entire days crammed into the unrealistic space of a night, leaving her empty when she woke, longing for those times.

Sometimes Annie pined for sleep, to spend a few precious hours as if nothing had changed...and sometimes it was the thing that terrified her the most.

One thing she knew about sleep though, was that she could always count on it to capture her eventually...

* * *

"_Do you mind if...can I do it?"_

_Annie looked up curiously at the reflection in the mirror, through the sea dampened locks that were in a tangle over her eyes. _

_Finnick stood behind her shifting from one foot to the other, unsure, but with a determined look on his face. _

_Annie smiled slightly, a warm flush creeping across her cheeks._

"_You want... you want to brush my hair?"_

_It was Finnick's turn to blush, and Annie felt her stomach erupt into butterflies as he nodded sheepishly. _

_Pushing the damp mane out of her eyes, Annie tugged the pale blue, shell encrusted brush from her knots with a wince and handed it to Finnick._

"_You don't know what you've got yourself into" she laughed. "This is a battle I face every day". _

_Eyes bright, Finnick simply said;_

"_Tell me if I hurt you". _

_And then his hands were entwined in her hair, and they were running across her neck, her shoulders, and following her waves down so that his fingers trailed all the way to the small of her back._

_Goosebumps erupted across Annie's skin at his touch and tingles followed the paths that his fingers made._

_She felt warmth spread through her entire body, and all she could hear was her own breathing in time with his, and the gentle scrape of the brush as it smoothed her hair._

_She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, and she was hyperaware of every movement he made. _

_Sighing softly, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes._

"_Am I hurting you?" he asked breathlessly._

"_No," Annie whispered. "Not at all"._

_And as her eyes flicked back open, and met Finnick's in the reflection of her mirror, their words suddenly took on a whole new meaning._

_Because this was so new, and Annie had never felt this way before, and she didn't know where this 'thing' with the 'District 4 hero' had started, or where it was going, or where it would end up, but she knew she had never been so sure of anything in her life._

_She didn't know how he made her feel the way that he did, or how out of _everyone_ he had picked her. She couldn't understand why his eyes lit up every time he spotted her walking towards him on the beach, or why his heart kicked up a notch when she laid her head on his chest. It was beyond her comprehension how everybody's golden child, the perfect boy, had seen something worth fighting for within her, the battered, broken child of the sea._

_But she knew that here, so close to him that she could feel his body heat, that she could hear his gentle breathing and feel the patterns his fingertips drew across her skin, that she had never felt so safe, never felt so stable._

_And she did know that never had she felt more herself than she did in this very moment._

"_No," she whispered again, as his hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he leant in so close that his warm breath tickled her neck._

"_This doesn't hurt a bit"._

* * *

And just like so many times before, Annie would wake with tears streaming down her face...with nobody to kiss them away.

* * *

**This isn't exactly what I'd planned for this chapter, but it came to me and wouldn't go away :P  
Hope you like it!  
Thank you so much to the three reviewers of this so far, your feedback has been incredible!  
Keep reviewing, keep me smiling! **


	4. Carried

It wasn't easy, moving.

She didn't mean moving on! No, that wasn't even a conceivable possibility.

She just meant moving, like finding the energy to get out of bed in the morning...like controlling her limbs so that she could shift from the blankets to the window seat.

It wasn't easy to learn how to move again after somebody had been carrying you.

She didn't want to at first...and then she lay immobile for so long that she didn't think she physically could.

Her baby was teaching her how.

It started off small – giving her the strength to reach for a piece of food to feed them both, sitting up in bed, letting the sunlight back into the room... step by step she was learning how to walk again.

Her baby was a mover.

Always kicking, always fighting, always letting Annie know it was there.

Annie could feel life radiating from her child, and without even realising it, that life began to seep back into the brittle, broken fragments of her soul.

Annie's baby reminded her of the days when she too had been a mover, a fighter, alive.

Everybody thought that the arena had turned Annie crazy. Truth was; that was only the final straw. The process had started a long time before.

When Annie used to think back to those days, she was overwhelmed with grief, loss, betrayal.

Now however, her baby was forcing her to remember a different side to those times, a burning from her soul that was insistent, demanding and incessantly brave.

Her baby was forcing her to remember that there _had_ been a time before Finnick, a time when Annie could be strong on her own.

It didn't stop the pain, no, that was relentless. However, Annie was finding that the child she carried gave her a way to start working around it.

And as her baby helped her to move a step further every day, Annie had to wonder –

Who was really carrying who?

* * *

**Ok, so I apologise for this atrocious chapter!  
Next one will be better!  
If anyone is a fan of Harry Potter, I'd love it if you'd check out my Lily&James Fic!  
Also, on my profile is the link to my tumblr...follow me, let me know how you found me and I'll follow you back!  
Feel free to ask any questions too :)  
Thank you for the beautiful reviews this fic has received so far 3**


	5. Beginnings

Aspen Melody Firr was born in District 7 to Annie and Chaney Firr.

The eldest of five daughters, Aspen was the dreamer of the family, and the most beautiful. Her parents had known from a very young age that they had an artist on their hands, and as Aspen grew older, the challenge of drawing her away from her fantasy land to ground her in the real world became more and more difficult.

'Aspen; a tree with delicate, heart-shaped leaves that quiver in the lightest breeze'. Her mother always said they'd chosen her name perfectly.

Aspen loved to use her hands to create. She would spend her days searching for new material to make things with, spend hours pouring effort and love into her creations, and then she would sell them at the market so that she could 'give away pieces of her love'.

She was always searching for new; new materials, new designs, new people, new memories... and so when the mysterious new stranger wandered into the District 7 market place with hands filled with glittering shells, Aspen had to know more.

* * *

Douglas Cresta was born in district 4 to Coral and Erving Cresta.

Coral had died in childbirth, leaving Douglas an only child. Erving was a night fisherman. He would work through the nights, and then spend the days sleeping.

Douglas was left alone a lot.

He was always a quiet little boy, more interested in books than people. He developed a curiosity for ships, those things that always took his father away from him.

By the time Douglas started school, the interest developed into an obsession, and by the time he was fifteen years old, Douglas could draw up an entire blueprint for the construction of a boat.

He became District 4's youngest ever ship builder, and had earned legendary status by the time he was eighteen.

* * *

The ship builder. The artist. The district that linked them.

* * *

District 7 is best known for its lumber trade, and Douglas needed wood to build his ships.

He began making monthly visits to the woodland district, and that is how he first set his eyes on Aspen Firr.

That fateful day had fallen in the middle of spring.

The air was humid, and thick with the rich scent of soil and leaves.

The market sat in a laneway lined with ancient old Oaks, the sunlight filtering in through the gap in the leaves cast a watery gold glow over everything.

Douglas had been wandering aimlessly up the laneway for a while, waiting for his order to be ready. His mind, emerged in measurements, blueprints and figures, was distracted first by the spark of colour.

Everything in this place was a thousand different shades of greens and browns, and so the glittering of bright blues, fiery reds and warm yellows immediately grabbed his eye.

He walked slowly over to the stall of trinkets; sculptures, jewellery, toys, paintings of every colour donned the display. He was mesmerised by the colour.

"Like what you see?" asked a voice in a soft tone that sounded almost like singing.

His eyes flicked up to the stall owner, and his breath was lost within his pounding heart.

The most beautiful person he had ever seen stood before him. If he thought her stall was colourful, it was nothing, nothing compared to her.

Her hair was gold; the colour of baking bread, or the cleanest sand on a summer's day. It fell in gentle waves to the small of her back, and when she turned her head, it glowed fiery platinum in the filtered sunlight.

She was small statured, slim, with bells that jingled on her delicate wrists and collar bones that rose against her pale, creamy skin.

A smattering of golden freckles lined her button nose, and she smiled a secret, otherworldly smile with perfect, pink lips.

Her eyes, however, held Douglas most entranced.

A thousand different shades of green danced beyond those thick, golden lashes. Douglas could see the deep green of the ocean on a stormy day, the pale green of the sea shells he collected when he was young, the rich green of the oak leaves that canopied over the market, and a soul that was both in this world and another.

Her sundress was covered in bright, pastel flowers, and jangling bracelets adorned her arms.

She was watching him with a bright interest, and she leaned in closer, so that he could smell her spicy scent before she said;

"I don't think I've seen you around here before".

"N...no" stuttered Douglas, clearing his suddenly closed throat to search for words. "No, I'm here on business. I'm from District 4".

Her eyes widened in wonder.

"District 4? Really? Oh, so you must get to see the beach every day! How wonderful! I've never seen the beach before..." she trailed off wistfully.

Looking at the handsome stranger, with dark hair and stormy grey eyes, Aspen was gripped with the feeling she always got before starting a new project; the hopefulness, the creativity, and a spark of something more.

"Would you like anything?" she asked, gesturing to her work.

"Yes," said Douglas, looking her straight in the eyes. "I would".

They both blushed then, and Douglas was entranced by the pink glow on her cheeks.

To give his hands something to do, he reached out and grabbed the first thing he touched – an intricate brooch made with tiny twisted vines, a blue-black acorn in the centre.

"Interesting choice', she laughed, and the sound sounded like the sun sighing.

"Oh, I don't want money!" she remarked, when she saw him searching for coins.

He looked at her quizzically.

"I don't like to take money for my work" she answered, smiling mysteriously. "I like new things instead".

"New?" he queried.

She nodded, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.

"Things I've never seen before, things I don't already have, things I can create with..."

She stopped speaking as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the handful of shells he had collected on his last visit to the beach before he left home.

"Will these do?" he asked.

Her wonderstruck eyes answered his question.

Hesitatingly, he reached out and took her hand in his, turning it palm up so he could empty the shells into it.

They stood, hands linked, for a moment longer than was necessary, before Douglas stepped back.

"I...have to go. I have to collect an order".

She dragged her eyes away from the shells to meet his, green blended with grey, and she smiled.

"Until we meet again..."

"Douglas" he provided. "Douglas Cresta".

"Well Douglas Cresta, the pleasure has been mine" she said, batting her long lashes.

"No..."

"Aspen Firr"

"Aspen. The pleasure has been mine, I assure you".

And with a final, lingering look, Douglas turned and walked away, dropping the brooch into his pocket as he did so.

* * *

**Ok, so if you haven't worked it out already, this is the story of Annie's parents.  
The back story of a character is really interesting to me, and while I didn't plan to do this semi-spinoff within the story, I've realised that it's actually a really important part in making 'my' Annie the character she is.  
I hope to keep throwing these back stories in when they're relevant... unless you guys absolutely hate the idea, or find it too confusing!  
And don't worry, Annie and her baby will definitely remain the main focus!  
So pretty please let me know what you think, because I love to get your feedback!**


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